I WILL TELL YOU WHY; SO SHALL MY ANTICIPATION PREVENT
YOUR DISCOVERY, AND YOUR SECRECY TO THE KING AND
QUEEN MOULT NO FEATHER. I HAVE OF LATE - BUT WHEREFORE
I KNOW NOT - LOST ALL MY MIRTH, FORGONE ALL CUSTOM OF
EXERCISES; AND INDEED IT GOES SO HEAVILY WITH MY
DISPOSITION THAT THIS GOODLY FRAME, THE EARTH, SEEMS TO
ME A STERILE PROMONTORY, THIS MOST EXCELLENT CANOPY,
THE AIR, LOOK YOU, THIS BRAVE O'ERHANGING FIRMAMENT,
THIS MAJESTICAL ROOF FRETTED WITH GOLDEN FIRE, WHY,
IT APPEARS NO OTHER THING TO ME THAN A FOUL AND PESTILENT
CONGREGATION OF VAPORS. WHAT A PIECE OF WORK IS A MAN!
HOW NOBLE IN REASON, HOW INFINITE IN FACULTIES,
IN FORM AND MOVING HOW EXPRESS AND ADMIRABLE,
IN ACTION HOW LIKE AN ANGEL, IN APPREHENSION HOW LIKE
A GOD! THE BEAUTY OF THE WORLD, THE PARAGON OF ANIMALS!
AND YET, TO ME, WHAT IS THIS QUINTESSENCE OF DUST? MAN
DELIGHTS NOT ME - NO, NOR WOMAN NEITHER, THOUGH BY
YOUR SMILING YOU SEEM TO SAY SO.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Act 1 Scene 1: O, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright (Spoken by Romeo). Typed with Caps Lock on.
O, SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT!
IT SEEMS SHE HANGS UPON THE CHEEK OF NIGHT
LIKE A RICH JEWEL IN AN ETHIOPE'S EAR;
BEAUTY TO RICH FOR US, FOR EARTH TOO DEAR!
SO SHOWS A SNOWY DOVE TROOPING WITH CROWS,
AS YONDER LADY O'ER HER FELLOWS SHOWS.
THE MEASURE DONE, I'LL WATCH HER PLACE OF STAND.
AND, TOUCHING HERS, MAKE BLESSED MY RUDE HAND.
DID MY HEART LOVE TILL NOW? FORSWEAR IT, SIGHT!
FOR I NE'ER SAW TRUE BEAUTY TILL THIS NIGHT.
IT SEEMS SHE HANGS UPON THE CHEEK OF NIGHT
LIKE A RICH JEWEL IN AN ETHIOPE'S EAR;
BEAUTY TO RICH FOR US, FOR EARTH TOO DEAR!
SO SHOWS A SNOWY DOVE TROOPING WITH CROWS,
AS YONDER LADY O'ER HER FELLOWS SHOWS.
THE MEASURE DONE, I'LL WATCH HER PLACE OF STAND.
AND, TOUCHING HERS, MAKE BLESSED MY RUDE HAND.
DID MY HEART LOVE TILL NOW? FORSWEAR IT, SIGHT!
FOR I NE'ER SAW TRUE BEAUTY TILL THIS NIGHT.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Guess Where I was Sitting
Coffee Holy Shit Hot Not.
Twitching finger.
Duma key duma key dumdumdumduma Key.
Lite-Murmur. Diet tumor.
Hello. I got Cash Money.
Why not, Brazil? WHY THE HELL NOT.
Scrape.
Shuffle, pour...anticipating next noise.
The man is a gnome. The man looks like a gnome. But instead he's just a person.
Inaudible order. The gnome-man is being very quiet.
Literally suing.
Interesting observation? So many poems full of interesting observations.
Mrk Mynrd.
What a boring observation this is: basements are underground rooms.
Gnome-man has a friend who looks so wholesome.
Oh wait, they aren't friends.
Plankton. Puh-lank-ton.
Dear Diary, today I wish to have no use whatsoever.
Sniff.
You Anarchic Little Prick - stay on your side of the dream pool.
I guess gnome was a bitch.
.
I mean
I guess gnome was a bit harsh.
I just heard the most beautiful sound in the block. And it was a dog barking.
Like that one guy's poem was about who sucks and his poem sucks but it was about a dog barking along with Beethoven and I think maybe he didn't like that the dog was barking which isn't the reason why the poem sucks but is part of why he sucks
Japanese influenced clothing
Flu influenced clothing
Flu influenced flu
Another dumb observation: the past few sentences were influenced by the flu.
It's better to hide in the awning of the stupid then to boldly step forward and say that what you have done is clever
Thank you Confucius.
if Kanye West is the new Confucius, then the world is a good place.
Thank you dishwasher.
Your swishing is so beautiful.
Wait, no, that's the roaster.
Screw you dishwasher.
Click clack click clack
Arthur Miller - Timebends
TimeBends?
Timeb Ends?
Perhaps more of a statement: TIME BENDS
Thick.
Other good words (excluding Thick):
Start
Seven
Nominative
Lansing
Ethereal
You useless piece of loving kindness.
Cardinals.
Cardanals.
Forgot to take allergy medication. Poem ending.
Fin.
Twitching finger.
Duma key duma key dumdumdumduma Key.
Lite-Murmur. Diet tumor.
Hello. I got Cash Money.
Why not, Brazil? WHY THE HELL NOT.
Scrape.
Shuffle, pour...anticipating next noise.
The man is a gnome. The man looks like a gnome. But instead he's just a person.
Inaudible order. The gnome-man is being very quiet.
Literally suing.
Interesting observation? So many poems full of interesting observations.
Mrk Mynrd.
What a boring observation this is: basements are underground rooms.
Gnome-man has a friend who looks so wholesome.
Oh wait, they aren't friends.
Plankton. Puh-lank-ton.
Dear Diary, today I wish to have no use whatsoever.
Sniff.
You Anarchic Little Prick - stay on your side of the dream pool.
I guess gnome was a bitch.
.
I mean
I guess gnome was a bit harsh.
I just heard the most beautiful sound in the block. And it was a dog barking.
Like that one guy's poem was about who sucks and his poem sucks but it was about a dog barking along with Beethoven and I think maybe he didn't like that the dog was barking which isn't the reason why the poem sucks but is part of why he sucks
Japanese influenced clothing
Flu influenced clothing
Flu influenced flu
Another dumb observation: the past few sentences were influenced by the flu.
It's better to hide in the awning of the stupid then to boldly step forward and say that what you have done is clever
Thank you Confucius.
if Kanye West is the new Confucius, then the world is a good place.
Thank you dishwasher.
Your swishing is so beautiful.
Wait, no, that's the roaster.
Screw you dishwasher.
Click clack click clack
Arthur Miller - Timebends
TimeBends?
Timeb Ends?
Perhaps more of a statement: TIME BENDS
Thick.
Other good words (excluding Thick):
Start
Seven
Nominative
Lansing
Ethereal
You useless piece of loving kindness.
Cardinals.
Cardanals.
Forgot to take allergy medication. Poem ending.
Fin.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Clairvoyance?
It's frustrating to hear the busy signal of a friend when you're trying to tell them great news.
It's weird to think that it's frustrating to hear a busy signal when they're almost entirely extinct at this point. We have voicemail now. Why am I frustrated to hear the busy signal of a friend? How less frequent it is than their voice! And most certainly of a ringing phone!
What a beautiful, beautiful, repetitious beep.
More like an irritating throb that never reaches a climax.
It just keeps going 'til I hang up, holding onto my great news for later. Stuck inside my mouth.
The busy signal is my friend at this point.
Buh Buh Buh to you too, mister.
Sorry to gender a noise.
I just drank steamed milk. It was delicious.
I feel really guilty for not enjoying a sound. Especially one that is so endangered.
It's just that I have really great news, and I wanted to tell it now, not later, because I'm at work and it's spring break so all the students are gone and I have nothing to do. Except I have a lot to do, but not a whole lot that I really want to do right now, so I'm listening to a busy signal.
It's really not all that bad.
Phone must be off the hook. Nobody talks this long.
It's weird to think that it's frustrating to hear a busy signal when they're almost entirely extinct at this point. We have voicemail now. Why am I frustrated to hear the busy signal of a friend? How less frequent it is than their voice! And most certainly of a ringing phone!
What a beautiful, beautiful, repetitious beep.
More like an irritating throb that never reaches a climax.
It just keeps going 'til I hang up, holding onto my great news for later. Stuck inside my mouth.
The busy signal is my friend at this point.
Buh Buh Buh to you too, mister.
Sorry to gender a noise.
I just drank steamed milk. It was delicious.
I feel really guilty for not enjoying a sound. Especially one that is so endangered.
It's just that I have really great news, and I wanted to tell it now, not later, because I'm at work and it's spring break so all the students are gone and I have nothing to do. Except I have a lot to do, but not a whole lot that I really want to do right now, so I'm listening to a busy signal.
It's really not all that bad.
Phone must be off the hook. Nobody talks this long.
Friday, February 13, 2009
As one of five digits, and as companion to four fingers
The thumb
The thumb is the lateral-most digit of the hand.
The pinky
The little finger, often called the pinky in American English and pinkie in Scottish English (from the Dutch word pink, meaning little finger), is the most ulnar and usually smallest finger of the human hand.
Opposite the thumb, next to the ring finger.
The ring finger
The ring finger is the fourth digit of the human hand, and the second most ulnar finger, located between the middle finger and the little finger.
The index finger
The index finger, also referred to as, pointer finger, forefinger, trigger finger, digitus secundus, or digitus II, is the second finger of a human hand.
The middle finger
The middle finger (also the long finger and usually the longest finger) is the third digit of the human hand, located between the index finger and the ring finger. It is also called the third finger, digitus medius, digitus tertius, or digitus III in anatomy. Mainly used by Mr. Myncia
(who the hell is mr. myncia)
In many Western countries extending only the middle finger and sometimes along with the thumb of the same hand, is an offensive and obscene gesture, colloquially known as "flipping a bird" or "Flipping someone off." In some cultures, the middle finger is used as an index, to point things out.
I use my middle finger to make money
It is located between the first and third digits - that is, between the thumb and the middle finger. It is usually the most dextrous and sensitive finger of the hand, though not the longest.
The English word "finger" has two senses, even in the context of appendages of a single typical human hand:
1. The four digits, not including the thumb.
2. Any of the five digits.
According to László A. Magyar, the names of the ring finger in many languages reflect an ancient belief that it is a magical finger. It is named after magic or rings, or called nameless.
The ring finger on this hand is circled.
There is some evidence that the ratio between the lengths of the index finger and the ring finger may be modulated by androgen exposure in the uterus.
this is the right ring finger. this is the right ring finger. this is the ring fight finger. this is the finger right ring. hell, this is your right ring finger
Hello, I am the thumb. I am one of five, companion of four.
Hello, thumb.
Hello thumb!
Why 'ello mate!
Heya thumb.
In the USA a pinky swear or pinky promise is made when a person wraps one of their pinky fingers around the other person's pinky and makes a promise.
This is a picture of the pinky finger extended.
pinky pink. dinky dink. pinky.
Also in Japan, holding up a little finger while speaking of two people signifies that they are in a relationship.
Similarly, in Indonesia, when a man points his little finger downward it is a signal that he needs to urinate
So many fingers so many thumbs! So many monkeys drumming on drums!
In Australia, when a male driver is showing signs of road rage, women hold up their pinkie fingers.
More finger porn for your enjoyment.
This picture is of a human hand - index finger extended.
No picture of middle finger available.
Black sheep of the bunch...Middle finger has gone down a poor path.
We don't talk about middle finger in front of dad.
That's not just a finger. It's so much more than just a finger.
That's all we should really say about the middle finger.
I am the thumb.
I am the beginning of the hand.
I am the sign of approval.
I am the grip.
I am the straw that broke the camel's back.
I am the curve.
I am the space bar.
I am one of five, companion of four.
Thumby thumb thumb, thanks for the thumb.
The thumb is the lateral-most digit of the hand.
The pinky
The little finger, often called the pinky in American English and pinkie in Scottish English (from the Dutch word pink, meaning little finger), is the most ulnar and usually smallest finger of the human hand.
Opposite the thumb, next to the ring finger.
The ring finger
The ring finger is the fourth digit of the human hand, and the second most ulnar finger, located between the middle finger and the little finger.
The index finger
The index finger, also referred to as, pointer finger, forefinger, trigger finger, digitus secundus, or digitus II, is the second finger of a human hand.
The middle finger
The middle finger (also the long finger and usually the longest finger) is the third digit of the human hand, located between the index finger and the ring finger. It is also called the third finger, digitus medius, digitus tertius, or digitus III in anatomy. Mainly used by Mr. Myncia
(who the hell is mr. myncia)
In many Western countries extending only the middle finger and sometimes along with the thumb of the same hand, is an offensive and obscene gesture, colloquially known as "flipping a bird" or "Flipping someone off." In some cultures, the middle finger is used as an index, to point things out.
I use my middle finger to make money
It is located between the first and third digits - that is, between the thumb and the middle finger. It is usually the most dextrous and sensitive finger of the hand, though not the longest.
The English word "finger" has two senses, even in the context of appendages of a single typical human hand:
1. The four digits, not including the thumb.
2. Any of the five digits.
According to László A. Magyar, the names of the ring finger in many languages reflect an ancient belief that it is a magical finger. It is named after magic or rings, or called nameless.
The ring finger on this hand is circled.
There is some evidence that the ratio between the lengths of the index finger and the ring finger may be modulated by androgen exposure in the uterus.
this is the right ring finger. this is the right ring finger. this is the ring fight finger. this is the finger right ring. hell, this is your right ring finger
Hello, I am the thumb. I am one of five, companion of four.
Hello, thumb.
Hello thumb!
Why 'ello mate!
Heya thumb.
In the USA a pinky swear or pinky promise is made when a person wraps one of their pinky fingers around the other person's pinky and makes a promise.
This is a picture of the pinky finger extended.
pinky pink. dinky dink. pinky.
Also in Japan, holding up a little finger while speaking of two people signifies that they are in a relationship.
Similarly, in Indonesia, when a man points his little finger downward it is a signal that he needs to urinate
So many fingers so many thumbs! So many monkeys drumming on drums!
In Australia, when a male driver is showing signs of road rage, women hold up their pinkie fingers.
More finger porn for your enjoyment.
This picture is of a human hand - index finger extended.
No picture of middle finger available.
Black sheep of the bunch...Middle finger has gone down a poor path.
We don't talk about middle finger in front of dad.
That's not just a finger. It's so much more than just a finger.
That's all we should really say about the middle finger.
I am the thumb.
I am the beginning of the hand.
I am the sign of approval.
I am the grip.
I am the straw that broke the camel's back.
I am the curve.
I am the space bar.
I am one of five, companion of four.
Thumby thumb thumb, thanks for the thumb.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
I Apologize
I A Pile of Eyes
I'm sorry. I'm in a state of trying to discover myself through different blog layouts.
Have I been unhappy because I've been using templates? Or have I been using templates because I'm unhappy?
I like to call this version "poop chic." It took me at least 5 minutes to find acceptable shades of brown to lay against each other. At least I feel original and less inclined toward self-deprecation now.
In order for this not to be a dreadfully narcissistic post (The whole world holds their breath as Theresa switches from color scheme to color scheme. Bracing themselves against their seats as she changes the font color from black to egg-white. "No! Not that one! Gone are the good days! Welcome, Chaos, you foul master!"), I will post a series of links to pictures that I think are pretty:
Remember: No reason to think our alphabet is the only one around. Lots of other languages have equally important and interesting alphabets.
In a similar vein, I thought this was an excessively interesting suggestion.
Have you ever met this woman? If I ever met her, I would tell her a happy thing. She looks so sad. I found her by Google Image Searching "Smacky the Insufferable." That is not a good example of a happy thing.
This is a picture of Pablo Neruda with a statue of a breasty lady behind him. Sorry to spoil the surprise!
This picture presents a lot of interesting points for discussion. What I find of particular interest is that the man's photobucket.com address implies that his name is "Adam Lester." Oh, if only his middle name was "Oliver." See if you can put that all together.
Sometimes, I do require a professional clown.
This is a link a to the color blue.
Google searching the color purple is a huge pain in the ass because of THAT DAMN BOOK! Sorry, I'm really emotionally caught up in this. This is the best example of it that I can get for now.
Breakfast.
I'm gonna go do that picture now. I miss you. I miss you all.
I'm sorry. I'm in a state of trying to discover myself through different blog layouts.
Have I been unhappy because I've been using templates? Or have I been using templates because I'm unhappy?
I like to call this version "poop chic." It took me at least 5 minutes to find acceptable shades of brown to lay against each other. At least I feel original and less inclined toward self-deprecation now.
In order for this not to be a dreadfully narcissistic post (The whole world holds their breath as Theresa switches from color scheme to color scheme. Bracing themselves against their seats as she changes the font color from black to egg-white. "No! Not that one! Gone are the good days! Welcome, Chaos, you foul master!"), I will post a series of links to pictures that I think are pretty:
Remember: No reason to think our alphabet is the only one around. Lots of other languages have equally important and interesting alphabets.
In a similar vein, I thought this was an excessively interesting suggestion.
Have you ever met this woman? If I ever met her, I would tell her a happy thing. She looks so sad. I found her by Google Image Searching "Smacky the Insufferable." That is not a good example of a happy thing.
This is a picture of Pablo Neruda with a statue of a breasty lady behind him. Sorry to spoil the surprise!
This picture presents a lot of interesting points for discussion. What I find of particular interest is that the man's photobucket.com address implies that his name is "Adam Lester." Oh, if only his middle name was "Oliver." See if you can put that all together.
Sometimes, I do require a professional clown.
This is a link a to the color blue.
Google searching the color purple is a huge pain in the ass because of THAT DAMN BOOK! Sorry, I'm really emotionally caught up in this. This is the best example of it that I can get for now.
Breakfast.
I'm gonna go do that picture now. I miss you. I miss you all.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Anxieties at 9 In the Morning
Is my youth gone?
Were those my glory days, and these my other days? Were those REALLY my glory days?
I live in terror of finding out how many triangles there are.
Why is my stomach making those weird sensations? What have I done to deserve this?
Do I need to order coffee for the shop today? What if I forget?
I get paid today. What if it's not enough?
IS IT EVER ENOUGH?
What if I do dare to eat a peach? One time, I ate an apple and contracted an allergy. It closed my throat. I went to the allergy doctor, and they tested me for a lot of things, besides apples. They said I could go either way with peaches: happiness or death.
Maybe I woke up too early today.
Maybe not.
I think today could go either way.
Today isn't a poetic day. Today is a clunky and endearing today. Today fell off the shelf on top of my head, and I thought Oh, what a dust jacket.
In some ways it's nice to have lost my youth. I have an excuse to sit around and stare at the cat. I have an excuse to ensure my consumption of breakfast.
Lonely, lonely, my life is boney.
I have an excuse to say no to that next drink. Except I normally don't. That's not a function of age. That's a function of sourness.
Turn down the loud! I'm souring in here. And clutching my aged limbs to myself. If I wrap them tightly enough, they'll mummify and quit aging.
I should probably go out to Ann Arbor today.
I'd much rather just stay here on the couch. This couch used to belong to my Grandma. She grew old, too.
Growing old guarantees at least one thing: death. But it can go both ways. It can never go either way.
Death is as mysterious as peaches.
Hello Death, you sly peach!
Was hast du jetzt gemacht?
I might be yet tired.
Why do my words always hump the left margin?
They're clinging to the left margin with their scraggly finger nails crying out OH GOD DON'T DROP ME.
It's 9:22 and the bells rang 5 times.
That makes less sense. But in making less sense, the bells make sense. Whenever they establish a pattern, I get scared that my queries have been in vain, and I've just been observing a completely normal pattern of nature that some other scientists figured out long ago and I was simply too lazy to read the report.
"Ding-Dong, Bing Bong: An Exploration Into the Bells of Ypsilanti which Ring on the :22's"
Yes. That will be my report. I will be famous. Makin' so much moonnneeeeyyyy.
Dolla dolla bill ya'll.
Pat, fat, sat, rat, mat, gnat, hat, bat, cat, eat.
I think I'll go back to bed for a wee sleepsies. My anxieties weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be. Except for the one where I thought I'd lost my youth. Oooeeee...that was bad.
Were those my glory days, and these my other days? Were those REALLY my glory days?
I live in terror of finding out how many triangles there are.
Why is my stomach making those weird sensations? What have I done to deserve this?
Do I need to order coffee for the shop today? What if I forget?
I get paid today. What if it's not enough?
IS IT EVER ENOUGH?
What if I do dare to eat a peach? One time, I ate an apple and contracted an allergy. It closed my throat. I went to the allergy doctor, and they tested me for a lot of things, besides apples. They said I could go either way with peaches: happiness or death.
Maybe I woke up too early today.
Maybe not.
I think today could go either way.
Today isn't a poetic day. Today is a clunky and endearing today. Today fell off the shelf on top of my head, and I thought Oh, what a dust jacket.
In some ways it's nice to have lost my youth. I have an excuse to sit around and stare at the cat. I have an excuse to ensure my consumption of breakfast.
Lonely, lonely, my life is boney.
I have an excuse to say no to that next drink. Except I normally don't. That's not a function of age. That's a function of sourness.
Turn down the loud! I'm souring in here. And clutching my aged limbs to myself. If I wrap them tightly enough, they'll mummify and quit aging.
I should probably go out to Ann Arbor today.
I'd much rather just stay here on the couch. This couch used to belong to my Grandma. She grew old, too.
Growing old guarantees at least one thing: death. But it can go both ways. It can never go either way.
Death is as mysterious as peaches.
Hello Death, you sly peach!
Was hast du jetzt gemacht?
I might be yet tired.
Why do my words always hump the left margin?
They're clinging to the left margin with their scraggly finger nails crying out OH GOD DON'T DROP ME.
It's 9:22 and the bells rang 5 times.
That makes less sense. But in making less sense, the bells make sense. Whenever they establish a pattern, I get scared that my queries have been in vain, and I've just been observing a completely normal pattern of nature that some other scientists figured out long ago and I was simply too lazy to read the report.
"Ding-Dong, Bing Bong: An Exploration Into the Bells of Ypsilanti which Ring on the :22's"
Yes. That will be my report. I will be famous. Makin' so much moonnneeeeyyyy.
Dolla dolla bill ya'll.
Pat, fat, sat, rat, mat, gnat, hat, bat, cat, eat.
I think I'll go back to bed for a wee sleepsies. My anxieties weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be. Except for the one where I thought I'd lost my youth. Oooeeee...that was bad.
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